Sketching Beauty, Proving Truth
by Mistressdickens
Summary: Spoilers for S6E1: They've not had a proper chance to talk about the wonderful things he said about her to Mrs Patmore, cannot even find a way to begin, but when Charles reveals a hidden talent and sketches his beloved, the drawing allows the love to flow.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, this is a late birthday present for ChelsieSouloftheAbbey. Asking her what she wanted, her request was simple 'if I had to request anything it would be some loveliness between Elsie and Charlie - what made him more comfortable kissing her in front of the staff, let alone using her first name, and the love nest admission from her was so out of character, or so we think. I need kisses...Chelsie kisses for my birthday, please.' Given I was already embarked on a love nest fic, I focussed more on the kisses part …. And then I wandered about a Canaletto exhibition, which had some beautiful sketches of women in it, and was inspired to write this. You know you've got it bad when renaissance art starts inspiring you.**

 **Slightly A/U in that I don't think Carson can draw for toffee, but I like the idea of him having this hidden talent.**

 **This is set somewhere in between episode 1 and 2 of season six. After the kiss but before the wedding planning troubles.**

She had not fully appreciated the weight her worries had added to her mind until they were dispelled by the look in his eyes as he drew towards her, and the touch of his fingers at the base of her neck. They had dissolved completely as his lips had touched hers. He had wrapped his arms about her as she allowed herself to luxuriate in the closeness, and quietly hushed the residual concerns about how they would manage further intimacy. In those moments it was enough to hear his heart beat.

They did not discuss the worries that had made her withdraw from him and send Mrs Patmore as her emissary, their newest understanding was still too fragile. Instead they spoke of practical matters; the best time to call on Mr Travis and the preferred month to be married. All the rest could wait. They retired to bed that night happier than they had been since Christmas Eve, looking forward to what the new day would bring.

It brought, of course, the demands of their working lives and although they snatched the odd moment to talk, they were always surrounded by others, and there were no quiet spaces to be themselves, Charles and Elsie, alone together.

Three days passed in this way, and Mr Carson was beginning to become annoyed at the lack of interaction. He was largely confident that she was not avoiding him as she had been before, but that did nothing to stop his heart from clenching with worry. He missed her – which was ridiculous, he sternly reminded himself, given she was only on the other side of the wall behind his desk.

It was not just that he missed her presence. If he was honest, he missed the feel of her. They had not kissed again. There really had not been another opportunity. Again, he was not being entirely honest within himself. Truth pricked his mind, reminded him that if he'd been bolder, less concerned with those about him, he could have taken a chance when he met on the stairs just this morning, when they were both on their way to breakfast.

Neither had expected to see the other, he'd come barrelling through the door from the male side of the servants quarters and almost thrown the door in her face. They had stood, at the head of the winding staircase, staring, saying nothing, but communicating how glad they were to see each other in the gaze they shared. He could have moved forward, gather her in his arms, pressed her against the bannister and kissed her.

He could have done it, and she would have been willing, he was almost sure of it, but he had done no such thing. He was not about to risk discovery. Instead he lifted his hand, gesturing to the stairs, and said 'after you.'

If she was disappointed, she did not show it, and certainly their conversation at breakfast was convivial enough to suggest she had not expected him to break his habits of a lifetime all at once.

That was this morning. He had not seen her for most of the day, and now it was late evening, almost eleven o'clock he noted, and she would soon retire to bed. Another day wasted. Another day without telling her he loved her, something he dearly wished to express himself, instead of using a proxy. The need to see her grew so that it was almost a physical ache deep within his chest.

Why was he still sitting at his desk when he could be in her company? It did not make much sense. He went to seek her out, noting with satisfaction that the servant's hall was completely deserted.

His quiet knock at her door had alerted her to his presence, but she did not turn from her perusal of the linen rota. She would not allow herself to become distracted by him. That was precisely the reason why the rota was in such a state in the first place.

'I'm sorry we've not had a proper chance to talk tonight Mr Carson. Are you off to bed?' She could not think of, or allow herself to hope for, another reason for his visit.

'No. I was hoping to persuade you to take a break. We've got a great deal to decide, and much of it could have been sorted by now if …'

His voice faded as he noticed her shoulders stiffening. He stepped towards her and placed a conciliatory hand on one of them.

'I did not mean to imply that I blamed you. I do understand. I merely wish to spend some proper time with you.'

He was thankful that he felt the tension leave her and grateful when her hand reached up and patted his, although she did not turn to face him as she replied. 'I know, and I wish it too – I've just so much to catch up on. A situation for which my recent actions are very much to blame, so …'

She spread her hands and gave a little shake of her head, fully expecting that he would take that as a sign to leave and go to bed. She was therefore surprised by what he said next.

'Would you mind very much if I sat with you? I have a book I could finish and I'd much prefer to be in your company than alone.'

She agreed readily to the suggestion, craving his company too, and he returned to his office. He did not immediately pick up the book he was reading, however. When he had opened the door to her sitting room and saw her at the desk, he had been struck by the way the lamp light had glinted in her hair and shadowed the cheek she had turned towards him. He had been trying to think of a way to tell her his deepest feelings, not wanting to merely repeat the words he had spoken to Mrs Patmore, although he was sure they would do. A flash of inspiration had come to him as he stood in the doorway, and although it had been a great many years since he had last put pencil to paper, he doubted that his skills had completely deserted him.

He intended to sketch her without her knowing.

His plan taking shape, he unearthed a few blank sheets of paper and a couple of pencils, and returned to her sitting room.

'Won't you come and sit with me?' he asked, taking a seat at the little table usually reserved for their conversations over sherry, and switched on the lamp. She started to protest, but he cut across her.

'You know as well as I do that you can work just as well over here. Please Elsie. I'd much rather see your face than your back.'

He did not know what part of his plea persuaded her, and was only half aware that he had spoken her name. He had done so on the evening he had kissed her, so it was not the first time, but it was still a rare enough occurrence to thrill her. Wisely, she did not comment on it, but she did give him a wide smile and moved her papers over to where he waited.

'You can stay as long as you don't talk to me.'

'Oh, I wouldn't dream of it' he answered seriously, the humour in his eyes sparkling at her.

He waited for her to get settled, lulling her into the silence by pretending to read the book he brought with him, along with the paper and pencils. The silence was broken only by the scratch of her pen, the occasional turn of a page and their breathing. He could not even hear the clock. He supposed it to be quieter than the one in his office which had seemed to punctuate his proposal and mock him for the waste of time, until the sound of his heart drowned it out, as the touch of her hand on his arm had made it beat that much faster.

She tutted in disapproval at something in the rota, and shifted in her seat slightly so that her torso twisted to a more comfortable position. She rested her hand on the fist of her left hand and tapped her pen against her teeth as she pondered the sheets in front of her. 'Ah' she said softly, and began to write again, settling comfortably into the position she had chosen. Her neck angled to the left towards the lamp, and the light cast shadows over the contours of her face, highlighting parts and throwing others into gloom.

Her hair had turned to molten honey in the lamplight, gleaming out like a beacon to him, signally his safe haven that he knew her to be. He could not have chosen a more perfect pose if he had positioned her himself.

After a time, he slowly, so as not to disturb her, placed the book to one side, drew a pencil from his breast pocket, and began to sketch her. She noted the new sounds, of course she did, but only thought he had grown tired of reading as she had supposed he would, and had brought some other, less frivolous, activity to occupy him.

She did not look up and he was therefore free to study her as closely as he wished with perfect safety. He noted the lines about her eyes and the crease in her forehead as she puzzled over her work and thought he could tell the difference between those lines that had been etched by worry and those which laughter had shaped. He saw the sweep of her nose and the perfect curve of the one ear which was visible and recorded them faithfully on the sheet in front of him. He gazed at the column of her neck which he had so recently touched, and the swell of her lips he had felt against his own and tried to temper his desire to repeat those actions by applying fervent concentration to transcribing their curves in the leaden copy he was creating.

He moved on from these dangerous features which tempted him so greatly. Her hair captivated his attention and he put considerable effort into perfecting the waves he saw before him. He had noted the gradual change of her style as the years passed, how the beautiful curls which framed her face had subtly given way to more practical considerations. He could not really see the back of her head at this present time, nor the intricate set of the plait he supposed must be at the root of her hairstyle. A great many pins were employed in fixing her hair, he thought, and he idly wondered just how long it took to put up each morning. Or take down at the end of a long and weary day.

A sudden image filled his mind and arrested his pencil in mid air. He looked at her, still absorbed in her work, but really he saw another version of the woman. This one stood before him, quite _en déshabillé_ , hair floating down about her face, over her shoulders, and tumbling almost to her waist was another Elsie entirely. He saw her in the lamplight that was now turning her golden, but he saw her in quite another place – the main bedroom of their newly bought house. It had been quite without furniture when they had viewed it, but now, in his mind's eye, it boasted a bed, which he seemed to lean against as she stood before him, her face unreadable, the same and yet completely different.

He blinked, tears of delight springing up unbidden, and the vision faded. He bent his head once more to his work.

A few minutes slipped away as they each concentrated on their tasks, but before long Mrs Hughes had to admit the folly of continuing to herself. She was tired, that was certainly true, but she was more distracted by the man who sat opposite her. She did not allow herself to glance up at him and therefore had not divined what exactly he was doing, but his very presence affected her.

It was why she had fallen so far behind with her work. The three days since they had cleared the air should have been ample time for her to catch up, but instead she had caught herself day dreaming on numerous occasions.

She had been annoyed and disturbed by the fact he had refused to call her by her name, or demonstrate by more than a touch of his hand how deeply he cared for her, but now that she knew what it felt like to be kissed by him, and how her name sounded when it slipped from his lips, as if he uttered the most sacred of prayers, she found the single occurrence not nearly enough to satisfy.

She was thoroughly perplexed by the fact her happiness should be so closely tied to his treatment of her, when before she had hardly cared what he thought, given he was so often reluctant to change with the times. But that was before. He had changed. They both had, and now she found herself presented with the duty of caring for the welfare of one other person, and it scared her. But it thrilled her too, because that gave her a responsibility she had never known before. To love and care for Charles Carson was a great privilege and it gave her so much as well, for the reverse was also true, and she keenly felt, when his arms had wrapped about her, that she had found a safe haven in him, with love and passion very much part of the bargain.

And therein lay the problem which kept her distracted, for she could still feel his lips on hers. Her forehead buzzed from the kiss he had tenderly bestowed on it. She wanted more, but knew him well enough not to demand public displays of affection. If truth were told, she was quite shocked at her need, given her age and the fact she had got along quite well without passion for the majority of her life.

She had not longed for the careful kisses Joe had placed on her cheek when they had courted. But she had never been as attracted to Joe as she was Mr Carson. No tiny sigh had escaped her when Joe kissed her, as it had when she experienced the brief caress of Charles's lips on her own. She wanted another kiss to see if the sound would be repeated, but she hardly knew how to go about asking. Therefore she was continually distracted by her imagination. It was a totally frustrating situation and now she had allowed the thoughts to filter through to the forefront of her brain, she knew she would never be able to focus on her work.

She threw down her pen with a touch of petulance and signed, but further movement was arrested by Mr Carson's voice, which was shot through with panicked urgency.

'No! Don't move – I've almost got you!'

 **A/N: I TOTALLY intended this being a one shot, but now I think their conversation about Mr Carson's surprising talent, what it reveals and the kisses should be kept for another day. I'm sorry to leave you all hanging, but ….. well, you'll all get over it, I'm sure.**

 **As I mentioned, I was inspired by a Canaletto exhibition, but the image that was at the forefront of my mind was one done by Da Vinci …. I've used it as the image for this fic. I don't for a moment think Carson had that great a talent, but the way the lines are drawn are what inspired me.**

 **A review or two would set me up forever**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Firstly, thank you to all you lovely reviewers. Since I mainly write one shots, I never get the chance to thank you all en masse, especially the guest reviewers, who have such kind words. Suzie – I had 'Something's gotta give' stuck in my head for an entire day. Quite apt, but not helpful for making them toe the line. Secondly – yes, I realise how terribly evil it was to stop at that particular point, and in hindsight perhaps I should have left it until it was completely ready. I just so wanted you to share it with me!**

 **I am a trifle worried about this chapter and whether or not I've made them too OOC ….. my thanks go to ChelsiesouloftheAbbey and MrPoohnminnie for putting up with me wailing about my inability to do them justice and just basically telling me to get on with it (or at least that's what it sounded like in my head, in a fairly Monty Python eque way). Also – the tense. I am well aware the first few paragraphs are in past tense and the rest in present. That kind of thing annoys the hell out of me, but there was just no other way. Forgive me.**

 **I shall trifle with your patience no longer …..**

As he committed her likeness to paper, he had become aware of her distraction, although he could not begin to guess what had pulled her thoughts away from the work. He'd been attempting to capture the gleam in her eyes for a full two minutes, and was both puzzled and enchanted by the unusual look in them. There was an added softness that he wasn't altogether familiar with, although he felt he had seen it on some other occasion. If he had been pushed to name it, he would have said it was wistfulness he saw.

Whatever it was, it was certain that her attention had wavered, and he felt the frustration rolling off her sharply, which was why he had been fully prepared for her impatient movement, although he could not help the alarm in his voice as he warned her:

'No! Don't move, I've almost got you!'

Having been well trained since childhood to heed abrupt warnings without question, she managed to prevent further movement, although she was quite perturbed by his hasty direction. Her compliance had saved her from harm more than once on the farm, and prevented her from numerous accidents in her earlier days as a housemaid, but she had never heard such urgency from Mr Carson.

She obeyed his order, of course she did, but as with everything to do with him, a part of her rebelled. Her body remained perfectly still, but her eyes snapped out of her reverie and instantly connected with his. She found his stare disconcerting in some peculiar way. He had never looked at her quite like that before. The determination in his gaze she certainly recognised; it was how he had regarded her three nights previous, just before he kissed her, but there was something else. She could not label it, although she understood the thrill it gave her nonetheless.

Thoughts of that nature were unhelpful, however, and she cast about for some other subject. He had told her not to move. That demanded an explanation.

'What do you mean?' she queried softly. Her eyes rested on the items he was fiddling with. He was holding a pencil, but the sheet of paper it was poised above did not seem to be covered with his neat writing. There was something else on it, but she couldn't quite make it out from the way her head angled, and since he would not let her move …

The penny dropped.

'Are you …? She falters, the question seeming almost laughable, because of course he wouldn't; he couldn't be, '…. Drawing me?'

He sighs as she asks the question, his secret revealed before he is quite ready to share it. Perhaps it is better this way though – she always finds him out in the end.

'I am' he confirms, looking up to find a range of emotions playing across her face, from bewilderment to shy delight. She still hasn't moved from the position she chose, but her eyes are wider than they were before and her mouth moves to form a question she cannot quite actually ask. She tucks it away for later and instead allows her curiosity to get the better of it.

'Can I see it?'

He wonders if he should stand to present it to her, but thinks it will make too much of the moment. In any case, she would most likely mirror his actions and he has grown rather fond of the way the low light is falling on her face. All the precious moments between them recently seem to have been blessed by this softness and he makes an instant decision that wherever they live after they are married, there will be lamps to provide this beautiful atmosphere that suits her so well.

She is waiting for him – watching him watch her – and there is no need for ceremony, he knows that, and simply turns the paper around and slides it over to her, offering her a slightly nervous smile as he does so.

She returns the smile, and their fingers brush as she reaches out for the paper, by accident or design he cannot tell. He studies her, as he had done all evening, and can see her mentally prepare to look down at what he has given her.

One …. Two …. Three ….

On the fourth beat, she slowly lowers her eyes and looks at what is before her. It stuns her completely. She cannot comprehend that it is herself she looks at, although the features are familiar enough. How can he have seen all these things which he now presents to her? She notes he has captured the lines around her eyes well enough, but even those are drawn with a tenderness which astounds. She needs to say something, has been staring at this precious gift for far too long, and she can feel his eyes on her face, anxiously awaiting her reaction.

She blushes, knowing now that he sees every little detail of her face, and no doubt the same tender scrutiny will be fixed on the rest of her in a few short months. It is something she had feared, but his attention to detail appears to have dispelled those fears rather than sharpened them.

'I …' She lifts her head and whatever it was she was going to say fades when she sees the look on his face, so exactly like just before she had given her complete consent to their engagement. So full of love, so fragile and preparing to be hurt. He doubts her again. Her silence, to him, has only ever signalled disagreement.

She has to find the words, but the only thing she can think of to say is 'I didn't know.'

Of all the asinine things to have uttered! When did she lose all control of her mental agility? He does not question her, waits with all the patience of the most hopeful saint, sitting there, eyes seemingly connected to her very soul.

She stands, taking the drawing with her, and turns towards her desk and then back towards him almost immediately, her movements jerky as her mind flails. She looks down at this wonderful depiction he has created and finally understands that _this_ is how he actually sees her. She is deeply overwhelmed by the proof of his love and she needs to thank him for the gift.

'I didn't know you could draw', she begins, starting with a factual topic, the other feelings still too precious to touch on at that moment.

She sends him a smile so wide that he is absolutely unable to misunderstand her. She is not offended and the relief crashes about him. If she wants to talk of his talent before she addresses the other issue, then so be it.

'I've not done so for a great many years. I used to sit in the wings of whichever theatre I was in and sketch the comings and goings. It was a good way to spend the interminable time between performances.'

She is fascinated by this insight to his other life, which he so rarely talks of, and can picture him, sitting on a box somewhere in the shadows, taking notice of everyone bustling about and capturing it. She wonders if anyone actually sat for him, but pushes away the small flutter of jealousy that he might have stared so long at a certain other woman. That is all in the past. She is the one he is going to marry after all.

'Thank you for this', she says quietly and simply, stepping towards him as she does so. He had remained seated when she had stood, an unusual lapse in his normal gentlemanly behaviour, but she doesn't mind, because it means that for once he is looking up at her. She takes one step more and reaches out the hand that does not hold his picture to grasp his shoulder.

'Thank you' she repeats, barely even whispering the words, and leans forward to place a devoted kiss to his cheek. His skins is soft, but she can detect the slight stubble that shows quite how late it is, and she hears the hastily drawn in breath he takes at the unexpected contact.

He refrains from touching her, although she can feel his hand hovering an inch or so away from the middle of her back. Something almost electric crackles between them – kissing him so boldly was a mistake, for now she has something tangible on which hang her wondering day dreams of the sounds he might make, which means it is very likely even less work will get done than before.

Straightening up she avoids looking into his eye and instead gazes back at the paper which is still in her hand. She needs to break the tension between them, and so says the first thing which comes into her head.

'You're very talented, Mr Carson, and _very_ flattering. I think this does me more favours than I deserve!'

She had intended her words to be light, but in chancing a glance at him, she is surprised to find that he is frowning at her.

'I knew you wouldn't believe me', he grumbles, knowing precisely what she means by what she doesn't mention and stands up slowly. He reaches out for the drawing and plucks it from her grasp, laying it carefully in the table beside him.

'You are beautiful' he says carefully, deliberately staring deep into her eyes as he says it, 'but it is not just your outward appearance which causes me to say so.'

Taking a cautious step closer to her, he starts to smile, and expression which reveals more than mere delight. She can read awe in it too, but she does allow herself to be lost in the deep power of his eyes, not entirely. She wants to hear what he had to say, has to concentrate, because she thinks it will be the most important thing he has ever said, so far.

She is not wrong.

'Your beauty extends to every part of you. The warmth in your heart, and the fire in your belly both feed that extraordinary mind of yours, and they all combine to make your eyes shine with the strength of your emotions. You are truly captivating.'

Throughout this little speech, his hands have fluttered about her, not coming to rest on any part of her anatomy, but she has felt their featherlike presence nonetheless, as the tips of his fingers daringly brushed the detail of her dress just above her heart, and then fleetingly drift over her midriff. His right hand comes to rest a mere centimetre from her cheek and she cannot help but sway into his touch as she stares at him.

'I only ever speak the truth where you are concerned, Elsie. I meant every word I said to Mrs Patmore. I …'

The rest of his words are prevented from being uttered by the quick and sudden pressure of her fingers on his lips. He is wonderfully surprised by her boldness, and more than a little delighted by the bashful smile which covers her face.

She laughs a little at her daring, and slides her fingers from his lips so that she now cups his cheek. They are the mirror image of each other, so careful in their actions, which are worth so much more for the fact they are sparingly given.

'I didn't mean to stop you so abruptly, but I wanted to say something, and it should be said before you gift me with anything else.'

She takes a small step backwards, her hand leaving his cheek, but he cannot regret the loss of contact because she instantly reaches for the hand that dangles by his side, and takes the other from her face so that she holds them both, palms upturned before her.

'I've always admired your hands', she says, turning them over and then back to their original position, her thumbs tracing the lines. 'They are so large that you could easily inflict some damage, but I've never seen you be anything but gentle. You use them quite as well as your words to convey your meaning.'

She lifts one of them and places a kiss to it, almost on the heart line, and is quite gratified to hear his little sigh. Further proof, even though she is not actively seeking it, that he is quite as affected as she is. She smiles at him and continues to reveal her innermost thoughts.

'Now I find that these hands have hidden talents and it makes me wonder if I know you as well as I supposed; but I don't mind, because that's part of the challenge we're going to share. I have faith in your hands, so large and gentle, to help me through this new life. My hands are small, but they'll do the same for you, because my heart is as full as yours. I love you Charles. I love you so much I find it difficult to remember how life was before I could tell you that.'

Her gaze slips from his, because it is almost too much at one to see the intense delight in his face. she cannot believe she has said so much all at once. She starts to worry that she has revealed too much of her herself, but how could she do otherwise when he was so honest. She focusses on his hands, which are turning in hers, until they are linked together. He squeezes her fingers, inviting her to look up, and when she does, she finds that his face is nearer than it had been before.

'I had to tell you before you said it.', she whispers. 'I didn't want you to doubt I feel as strongly. What you said to Mrs Patmore – I still can't quite believe …'

'Believe me, love, I meant every word.'

He has been struggling all day with his desire to kiss her, trying to push down on his feelings out of some sort of duty to propriety, but now that she is so close; now that he can feel (or thinks he can) her heartbeat racing in her wrists; now that they are surrounded by this glorious lamplight which is so conducive to romance and which turns her golden; now he is at a complete loss to understand why he is holding back.

'I love you Elsie' he says, hoping that he conveys the extent of his emotions in those four tiny words. He disentangles his hands from hers and finds that they alight on her waist, whilst her rise to rest on his chest. He draws her a little closer, although the tiny shred of his propriety which still exists does not let him pull her against his bulk entirely. He gazes at her, sees the permission in her eyes and finally, finally, lowers his lips to hers.

She was not quite sure what to do with her hands – the last time this happened, they had hung stiffly by her sides – but now, as his lips slide over hers, her hands take on a mind of their own and they are moving up over his chest to his shoulders almost on their own volition.

This kiss is nothing like the brief caress they had shared three days ago. True enough, he does attempt to draw away after a moment, but she protests, hums a little as she feels the pressure lessen (and although she is glad that the feelings he inspires were not unique to their first kiss, she is quite surprises at herself that she should be so impatient). He hears her little sound and makes one in return against her lips as he gives up on his intention to be the perfect gentleman.

Instead, he moves one of his hands from her waist to cradle her head, and makes sure her lips are firmly beneath his. Somehow one of her lips gets caught between his teeth and he nibbles on it, hardly aware he is doing so, but the gasp she gives is loud in his ear, and he breaks away from her, almost ashamed at his audacity.

She smiles at him before he can ruin the movement with apologies, and brings one of her hands from behind his neck, to rest over his heart. She shakes her head, trying to rid herself of the clouds which have settled over her mind and laughs at herself.

'I once told Ethel that I didn't live in a sack, when I found her with Major Bryant, but I was clearly talking through my hat. If I'd had _any_ idea the feelings a mere kiss could inspire …'

She trails off, looking up at him, her eyes wide, the lamplight sparkling in them.

Her statement inspires him with a seed of hope, but it is too much to think that he could be so fortunate. He has to know, however, even if it leads to disappointment.

'You mean Mr Burns never made you sigh like that?'

She would tease him if a similar thought had not been flitting through her own brain. She simply tells him what he wants to know. 'He never kissed me Charles. I never knew how pleasurable it would be until three days ago. At least you knew how it could be!'

He stares at her, brows gathered in confusion, until he suddenly understands what she is implying.

'I never kissed Alice. One of the many reasons she threw me over, no doubt. You were the first woman I kissed.' He leans towards her cheek, 'And the last' he promises, as he touches his lips to her skin.

He inspires a sigh, even in that chaste contact, and he hears her whisper 'Ohhhh, how can this be happening to me' as he presses her to him. He kisses her cheek again, and moves back to place one to the other side, but is arrested from his purpose by the fact she looks slightly concerned and is biting her lip.

'What's the matter?'

She glances up at him, surprised, and shakes her head. 'Nothing' she says, attempting to deflect his attention elsewhere.

'You're worrying about something', he states plainly, drawing back a little and staring her resolutely in the eye. 'When you're worried, you bite your lip, precisely as you are doing now.'

'Am I so easy to read?' she asks, laughing in surprise.

'Only to me. What's wrong?'

'Nothing's wrong, precisely', she says, furrowing her brow and wondering how she is going to get out of this problem her subconscious has presented. They have been nothing but honest with each other this evening, and in that spirit she determines to continue, even though she will most likely shock him greatly.

'I said three nights ago that if you wanted me, you could have me, but now I wonder if I was entirely open.'

'How so?' he asks, trying desperately to keep the panic from seeping through his brain.

'If you want me, I said. Well … I want you too. So much. I love you and I want you. Are you very shocked?'

She turns her head to one side and looks up at him, apprehension etched on her face. She does not get an answer. Not a verbal one in any case.

His arms are about her waist in an instant and his lips are on hers, fervent in their exploration. They are so close, she can practically feel his heartbeat, and the force of his passion completely knocks the breath from her. Her hands slide frantically over his shoulders, attempting to find a support for her suddenly shaky legs, but also needing to touch his skin, to feel the warmth of him beneath her fingertips.

He can feel her tremble in his arms and delights at the fact he is the one that is the cause, but at the same time he does not want her to collapse. He wants to continue with this new exploration, this new freedom. He opens his eyes a crack and beyond her hazy outline he sees the dark shape of the door. That will give her the support she needs.

She feels herself being moved backwards slightly, but hardly registers what is going on until she feels the hard wood of the door behind her. He has pressed her against it and is now kissing her even more fervently than before. His arms are wrapped about her, hands running over her hips, and he is using the support of the door to press even closer to her. She is amazed that she should have inspired this fervent adoration – at her age. But then passion is no respecter of age, she has found in these past days, and she must rethink all she has ever supposed to be true about relationships.

His lips have left hers suddenly, but he has not stopped his attentions, rather they have found new places to worship. He is placing rapid kisses to her jawline and then all of a sudden he moves to the top of her neck, bestows a heated kiss just below her ear and breathes 'I love you Elsie'.

She is barely able to remain standing, despite the door, and clutches at his shoulders and moans, a deep, throaty moan that seems to come from deep within her.

It has the opposite effect than the one she might have hoped, because he leans back from his heated attention of her neck and stares at her. His fingers of his right hand drift up to trace her jaw line lightly and he smiles wryly at her.

'And you wonder why I am so reluctant to call you by your name.'

He steps back slightly to allow her time to gather herself together, but does not relinquish contact entirely. She is grateful for the respite, does not know how much longer she could have retained her sanity, but longs for him to begin again.

'Is it why you wouldn't kiss me either?'

'I think we've both proved that our age is no barrier to our desires.'

She laughs in agreement and then sighs. 'How long is it until we're married?'

'Two months, six days and about twelve hours.'

She raises an eyebrow at his precision, and smiles fondly at him. 'You're not going to kiss me again are you?'

'Never say never' he says pompously, caressing her cheek, 'But just to touch you like this delights me, and I'm going to have to be careful, because if I touch you, I'm not sure I won't want to kiss you, and then ….'

'I understand' she says, and then grins at him. 'I don't promise to make it easy for you!'

'I wouldn't expect you to' he says, returning her mischievous smile.

Somewhere, possibly from his office, the sound of a clock chiming twelve makes itself known, and they are both suddenly aware of the very late hour and the need to be back on duty in a few short hours.

Reluctantly they leave her sitting room, turning out the magic golden light as they go, and make their way up the narrow winding stairs to their rooms. They pause on the landing where they met so many hours previously and share a look of amusement as they remember what they almost did in that very spot. It is Mr Carson who leans forward, breaking his rule of abstinence almost as soon as has been made, and captures her lips in a passionate, although brief, kiss.

'Goodnight, my love' he whispers as he glides through the door to the male side of the corridor.

She moves quietly to her own room, setting the picture he has drawn up against her mirror so that she will be able to see it in the morning and be reminded of his true feelings for her, even as their roles demand they both don their masks of responsibility. Whatever happens in the months to come, she knows – as does he – that a deep love and passion runs through their veins. The spectre of their wedding night looms a little less large over her imagination, because she has discovered how he sees her – he has sketched her beauty as he has always understood it, and through that he has revealed the truth to her.

The last lingering doubt slips away as she settles down to sleep. They will be united soon enough and it will be true and beautiful.

 **A/N: Hands up all those who find Elsie speaking her feelings is somehow harder to write than Charles? It's certainly the case with me.**

 **I think Jim Carter said somewhere that he thought it was Charles's first kiss which he shared with Elsie. I'm running with that head canon here. I also wanted to find a way to explain the fact they never seem to touch each other in the whole of episode two and most of episode three. Being too afraid that if they touch they'll spontaneously combust from passion is probably stretching it too far, but it's better than anything Fellowes has presented to us.**

 **Tiny nod to Sound of Music, although I'm only pointing it out because it's a direct quote. Kudos if you spot it.**

 **I do so hope you felt this was worth the wait. Reviews light up my life, and I would love to know what you think of this.**


	3. Epilogue

**A/N: So, I had a brief glimpse into the future running through my head when I was finishing up the second chapter, thinking of how I could unite the feelings I inspired with the events of the Christmas special. Then a review from amandacarson asked if I might write a few kisses after the wedding, and so I united the two ideas. I've had to raise the rating (oh the hardship for you all) but this is by no means a wedding night story proper, but there are echoes of what I hope could happen between them. This is really a series of moments.**

Epilogue

Two months, six days, and roughly thirteen hours after Elsie Hughes admitted the fact that she wanted her fiancée just as much as he wanted her, Elsie Carson steps out of Downton village church, her smile as brilliant as the sun which shines, and her arm firmly tucked into the crook of Mr Carson's elbow. They had agreed not to kiss in front of the congregation, both of them feeling that to do so the instant they became man and wife might push the benevolent view the Grantham's had of their union slightly too far.

She is therefore extremely surprised to find that just a few steps outside the church, Charles pauses and turns her towards him. She is laughing in delight at the happy exuberance of the villagers about her, and then an expression in his eyes as he looks at her makes the laughter diminish and her breath quicken. He leans towards her, but she has the greater distance to travel, meaning that his lips are fully puckered before they connect with hers. It is a brief kiss, for show really, and he is evidently enjoying playing up to their audience judging from the smacking sound his lips make when they leave hers.

He is not entirely immune to the romantic possibilities however. She can feel his hand at her waist, where it is trapped between their bodies, and she knows she does not imagine the way his fingers flex and lightly stroke her middle, something he is free to do now that they fully belong to each other.

XOX

Later, when she is in need of a brief rest from the celebrations, she is happily tucked away in a corner of the school house, Tom next to her and Sybbie on her lap, the little girl quietly telling her all about her American adventures. Tom is regaling her with anecdotes of the people he saw on the boat, giving an amusing impression of a well-known politician who happened to be travelling at the same time, when she feels a hand on the base of her neck. She does not have to turn to know who it is, the tenderness with which the fingers of the hand caress her skin (far more of it than is usually on show) makes it clear who is trying to get her attention.

'We should probably leave if we're going to make it to Scarborough by nightfall.'

She turns to give her agreement to his suggestion, which causes his fingers to slip ever so slightly beneath her dress and she stiffens, not out of a wish for him to cease, but more because it is the only way she can quell the fluttering in her breast. She smiles at him, and knows that he understands just what is going through her mind. He is looking at her in that way he had, his pride and devotion shining out of his eyes as if he were telegraphing the news for all the world to see.

Tom, of course, understands all of this little exchanged and is delighted to have witnessed it. He recognises the depth of feeling the two people before him share and understands, perhaps more than most, the electricity of desire that needing to keep some distance between them before this day has now ignited. He offers to drive them to the station, which occasions a silent conversation between the newlyweds and ends with Mr Carson accepting and thanking him most sincerely.

XOX

The journey to the station only takes ten minutes but there is a shift in atmosphere that being almost entirely alone brings. Tom does not attempt conversation, and the Carsons have eyes only for each other. They tuck themselves in one corner of the car and feel perfectly comfortable with the fact they jolt against each other. She holds out a gloved hand, palm up, and looks at him in expectation. He needs no other invitation to place his hand in hers and then her fabric covered fingers are caressing the lines of it. He is winding his arm about her shoulders as she moves to kiss his knuckles and he instinctively clutches her, before extending his fingers to brush over her collarbone. He cannot kiss her properly without her hat getting in the way and it is too complicated to remove it when they so near to the station. Perhaps when they are on the train.

She seems to understand his thoughts, for she kisses his knuckles a second time and leans back against the window to get a better look at him.

'I love you' she says lowly, not letting her gaze waver from his, there is no way he can resist her with his heart bursting the way it is, and he dips his head to place a full kiss to her lips. They arrive at the station all too quickly after that.

XOX

They had remained relatively restrained on the train, although she had removed both her hat and gloves, which encouraged his fleeting touches and a few kisses to her wrists once their carriage companions had alighted at whatever station it had been – Elsie hadn't been paying that much attention.

Now they are in Scarborough, their cases entrusted to the porter at the hotel where lingered only to register, and they are standing on the compact sand as dusk falls about them, one arm wrapped about the other and their free hands clasped so that they are half turned towards each other. They are looking out to sea, watching the sun slowly sink towards the horizon.

'Was it everything you expected?', he asks.

'More, I think. I hadn't fully contemplated the significance of the vows in relation to our history.'

'I heard the way your voice swooped when you got to 'in sickness and in health'. I'll always be …'

She shifts so that she faces him rather than the sea and squeezes his waist. 'I know. As will I.' She looks back towards the sea and them up at him. 'But I'd much rather talk about the other part of our vows.'

'You're demanding all my worldly goods already?' he asks in feigned shock.

Laughing, she quickly pokes him in the ribs. 'You know full well that I am not.' Pausing, she looks up at him fully, not needing to rely on coquetry in this moment. 'You promised to worship me. I've been wondering when you might begin.'

'Ah' he says, relinquishing her hand and moving so that he stands before her, both hands looped about her waist, his fingers clasped firmly in the middle of her back. 'I thought you'd never ask' he replies, his eyes twinkling in the diminishing light.

He leans forward and touches his lips gently to hers, in a caress which tells much of his wonder and gentleness. He moves back almost immediately and gazes down at her.

'I'm not going to break Charles' she whispers.

He does not reply, not verbally. Instead he pulls her firmly against him and dips his head to properly taste her lips. They are quickly lost in the moment and neither notices the sun set. It is dark when they make their way back to the hotel.

XOX

They have been in their room mere minutes and already they are wrapped in each other's arms, lips meshing together in fervent desire. There is no fear, no worry, at what is about to happen, although she stills has a slight niggle of doubt that she will be able to meet his expectations. It is heaven to be in his arms like this, to experience his love in full without the worry of propriety or interruption.

He breaks away from her lips to place hurried kisses to her neck and collarbone, whispering words of love against her skin as he does so.

'Do you have any idea how beautiful looked walking towards me?' he asks lowly as he goes to nibble her ear, a move which surprises her in the way it makes her knees even weaker than they had been before. She doesn't answer. Well, she does, but the moan she utters is not what she had intended to say. It is all she is capable of, however.

'I would have sketched you as you came towards me, if I could have suspended time. I don't think anyone would have taken kindly to a delay of twenty minutes though.'

She laughs slightly at this, clutching at his shoulders which are clad only in his shirt now, because he is still paying close attention to her neck and she is being turned to liquid fire by each caress of his lips. And his tongue – she is quite sure his tongue has just swept along her collarbone.

'Will you ever sketch me again?' she manages to ask, a question which has lingered at the back of her mind for the last two months.

'Maybe' he says 'but only when you least expect it.'

He draws back to look at her, drinks in her flushed appearance and heavy breathing, and caresses her face.

'It's not easy, trying to capture the look in your eyes. The love in your heart, the fire in your belly, the way your soul calls to me.'

He is repeating the words from months ago, and his actions, but this time he really touches her, his hand moving down from her cheek to run the full length of her neck, before coming to rest heavily over her heart. The barrier of her corset prevents him feeling what he really wants, but he can feel the way he is making her chest heave with emotion, and as he trails his hand slowly down her font to lay on her stomach, he sees her eyes darken so they are almost midnight blue with desire.

She rises up on her toes slightly and presses her fingers into the nape of his neck, compelling his lips to return to hers. Her tongue slips out from between her teeth and makes an exploration of his mouth. She has _never done_ that before and he is almost undone by the feeling. His hand clenches in the fine velvet of her coat and he groans deeply as she presses herself against him. There is no denying the evidence their shared desire his inspired in him.

She breaks away and slowly removes her coat, draping it over the chair by their side, before turning her back to him. She looks over her shoulder and nods her head at her buttons. 'Undo them for me?'

XOX

They stand in the lamp light of their room, not quite as soft as that of their offices, but magical none the less, trying to quell their frantic, heaving breaths. Layers of their clothes have been removed – he stands simply in his boxers, whilst she is only slightly more covered by her shift. He has just removed her corset, taking her instruction very seriously, knowing she might faint if he was too quick to undo the laces. She gasps in deep delight as his hand skims her waist, now free from any proper barrier and he can feel the warmth of her skin wherever his fingers choose to fall.

He can feel more than that, because her mouth is placing kisses to the middle of his chest and her fingers trail up and down his spine, causing him to shiver in anticipation of what else is to follow. His hands travel up her body and come to rest on her shoulders. He gently pushes at the straps of her slip, moving them down her arms. They become trapped at the crooks of her elbows, given her arms are still wrapped about his back. The lowered material strains against her breasts, allowing him a tantalising preview of her heaving décolletage. He places a reverent kiss to the flesh he sees, which elicits a deep sigh from his wife.

'Let me see you Elsie' he whispers against her skin, before returning to kiss this new found treasure. He feels her hands pause in their wandering exploration of his back, wonders momentarily if he has pushed her too far, too quickly, and feels the contact break between them as she steps back.

She is very sure to look deep into his eyes as she moves, and silently gains the courage to cross this last precarious barrier from the deep love and desire she finds pouring out from him. Without a word, she pushes the material down her arms and then peels it away from her breasts where it has caught slightly due to her voluptuous assets. The material, having been freed, falls to the floor without further assistance from her and she stands before him in nothing but her knickers.

He doesn't have to say the word for her to know he finds her beautiful. His eyes widen as he takes her in and he reaches out a hand to touch that which has been kept hidden from him for so long. She almost closes her eyes with desire at the feel of his wonderful hands, which she so loves, as they caress her body, but she wants to see, as well as feel, the passion which pours out from him, and they share the most intense moment of connection before he draws her to him and whispers 'Come to bed Mrs Carson.'

XOX

She awakens late into the morning (for her, in truth it is only really about eight o'clock) on the first day of 1926. She has nowhere to be, having been granted the day off, and allows herself to luxuriate in the softness of her bed.

She stretches out her arm, fully expecting to find the bulk of her husband, as naked as she currently is, beside her, but her hand meets only cool sheets.

Something tells her that is not far, still in the room in fact, so she does not allow herself to panic. Instead she indulges in the memory of their activities upon their return home after the celebrations of Lady Edith's wedding and the ringing in of the new year. He had allowed the strain of his illness to permeate their relationship, and had hardly touched her in the last month, but the weight had been lifted by the solution found by Lord Grantham. They had come together with a tumultuous passion which had rivalled nearly all their unions, excepting their first night together.

The memories of their physical expression of love causes her to smile as she lies abed, her hair scattered about the pillow, freed from its usual plait by the passionate demands of her husband the previous night.

'Are you having pleasant thoughts Mrs Carson?'

His voice makes her smile widen and she languidly opens her eyes, although she makes no effort to move from her prone position. There he sits, at the foot of the bed, on the chair of her dressing table, angled so that he might see her face as she woke.

He gazes at her as she lies perfectly still, drinking in the tumbled beauty she presents to him. A naked arm edges out from under the bedclothes and she reaches out to him, requesting his presence beside her without words. He rises, slowly on creaking knees, and moves to her side, towering over her as he gazes down, in awe of the love she is managing to convey to him through those sparkling blue eyes.

She realises that he is holding something by his side, and with a jolt in her heart, she realises it is a sheet of paper. She sits up almost instantly, the bed clothes falling about her middle until she feels the sharp chill on her nipples. She casts him a rueful glance as she covers herself, and tugs at his hand so that he sits on the edge of the bed. She doesn't even need to request an explanation, he gives it freely.

'I've been wondering if it were still possible to draw well since the shaking stated, and when I woke this morning, you looked so peaceful, so happy, and attractive, I thought it a perfect test.'

He hands her the paper, but he looks neither hopeful nor apprehensive at her reaction. He just wants her opinion.

There is no mistaking his style, it is the same as it was, but she can detect a certain lightness to parts of it she is fairly sure would have been more firmly drawn in the past, where he has not quite trusted himself not to run a line. But it is still a stunning work and a testament to how much he loves her. No one else could capture her quite like this and she feels overwhelmingly fortunate to know this secret of his. She has shared it with no one else.

She looks up at him, tears in her eyes which quickly spill over onto her cheeks as she sees his relieved smile. She sets the paper down beside her and reaching out for his hands, covering them with kisses.

'I told you how much I admired your hands and how I trusted them to hold me up and help me through this new and unfamiliar state in which we find ourselves. They might shake a little now, they might shake more in years to come, but I will never relinquish that trust Charles. I love you with my whole heart and nothing on this earth will change that.'

Leaning forward, he places a warm kiss to her forehead, before resting his own against hers and whispering 'Thank you my beautiful Elsie, thank you my love.'

They hold each other for a moment more before their desires can no longer be ignored and their lips and bodies meld together, proving the love which is evident to all, but which only they truly know the depth of.

 **A/N: This is truly the end of this little story. My inspiration for the way Elsie looks as she wakes is an early piece of Phyllis Logan's work, pictures have been posted on my tumblr. Thank you all for your lovely words in reviewing, one or two more would set me up forever. Also, if anyone who like to draw felt like having a crack at either of the two sketches described here …. Well, you'd make me feel very special and it'd be a lovely little extra to this special story.**


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